Still Life
by Allegoria
Summary: [AU Art Story] Harry and Ron are out of college and roommates. Ron is a lazy artist and couch potato who leeches off of Harry’s modest café paycheck. Then fate throws them a job offer in the form of a girl named Hermione...RHr;HPGW
1. Get a Bloody Job!

**STILL LIFE**

**Authoresses**: **Phaea** a.k.a. Sarah and **M0rbidity** a.k.a. Hayden

**Disclaimer**: We don't own, you don't sue, we don't own, but neither do you.

**Full (Alternate) Summary**: [AU] Harry and Ron are out of college and living together. Ron is a lazy artist/couch potato who leeches off of Harry's modest café paycheck. A mishap occurs, and Ron's forced to find a job. Then fate throws them a job offer in the form of a girl named Hermione... R/Hr, HP/GW

**Typer**: M0rbidity

**Beta-reader**: Phaea

**Written** **By**: Both; 'twas difficult. We were arguing for hours on the phone – actually mostly about other stuff, but you get the picture.

**M0rbidity's A/N**: Okay, this is my first collaboration. I don't know about **Phaea** but it is mine. So be nice. :D

**Phaea's A/N**: What she said. Anyway, we hope you enjoy.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: Get a Bloody Job!**

"You clogged the toilet?!" Harry shouted incredulously.

"It was an accident!" Ron insisted, coming out of his hiding place from behind the toilet plunger.

"How did you manage to accomplish that?!" Harry shouted, with a look of amused confusion mixed with mild anger on his face.

"I was BORED! So I _accidentally _flushed a ping pong ball down the toilet!" Ron whined.

"You wouldn't _be_ bored if you had a _job_!" Harry retorted, "If you had a job, you'd be clogging _their _toilets instead of _ours_!"

"Aw, come on Harry, I don't want to get a job! It's so boring!" Ron complained, sighing as he walked out of the bathroom with Harry on his heels.

"Seamus and Dean already have jobs! You need to start paying your share of the rent!" Harry said, following the red-head boy to the living room. Ron turned on the T.V. and covered his ears with two pillows in a child-like manner.

Harry turned off the T.V. right as Seamus and Dean came in.

"Mommy, Daddy, please stop arguing. Seamus can't sleep," Dean said in a small baby voice before bursting out laughing with Seamus.

"Oh shut up you two," Harry snapped.

"Okay, Ron, get a job by tomorrow or we'll ship you off to Fred and George's house," Harry threatened.

Ron instantly dropped the pillows and faced Harry with a horrified expression.

"You wouldn't dare," Ron whispered dangerously.

"Yes I would, now start searching!" Harry threw the newspaper in Ron's face and left the room.

"Uh-oh, Mommy's mad 'cause Daddy's gotta get a job!" Seamus said in the same baby voice, smiling.

"I heard that!" Harry's voice shouted through his room's door.

* * *

Harry had trouble staying awake the next day at work. All of the previous night was spent trying to sleep with Ron's incessant worrying and rippings of newspapers. To top it off, when the red-haired artist _finally _went to sleep, he was snoring as loud as a lawnmower.

Luckily, Harry worked at a café. And at a café, there was an endless limit of coffee.

After two ice cold Cappuccinos, Harry was wide awake and serving customers in between sitting on the counter, strumming on his guitar.

"So how's the band coming along, Harry?" Ginny asked, refilling the coffee machine.

"Not bad, but we still agree that we need a female lead singer..." Harry said pointedly.

"I already told you, I don't sing," Ginny sighed, turning back to serve a customer their coffee.

"But you're so good!" Harry said, trying for the 15th thousandth time. Ginny rolled her eyes and turned back to the customer, smiling sweetly and saying, "What would you like, sir?"

Harry gave up and sat back down on the counter, strumming "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin.

When he was about to get into the solo, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Blinking his eyes open, Harry saw a bushy-brown haired girl who had a stack of papers in her arms. She was dressed in a long red jacket and black pants. She looked like a sensible girl from the uptown, rich part of London.

"Erm, hi, my name's Hermione Granger, and I work for the London Museum of Art and I was wondering if I could post some ads for it here," the girl spoke with a voice that boasted her extensive knowledge. Harry knew from the start that she was a dedicated, refined, and fresh-out-of-college girl. Importance and wealth reeked around her.

"Sure," Harry answered, "Here, I'll show you the where the tack board is," Harry said, motioning for the girl to follow him into the lounge in the back of the café.

The room had green walls with vines and ivy painted on. Its carpet was a dull maroon color. Everything smelled of coffee and rosemary.

There were bookshelves on one entire side of a wall, couches and coffee tables were in the center. And in the back, there were small round and square tables for studying or drinking coffee. In front of all the tables, there was a small stage.

After tacking her posters, Hermione stood, looking at all the different people that were leaning against walls, sitting on the velvet, flower-patterned couches, reading, studying, drinking coffee, painting, playing their instruments...There was a feeling that she got from just standing in the room. She was surrounded by all different types of people who all believed in one, same thing; to create art. They all expressed it differently as well. The couches, tables, and chairs were littered with individualistic people. The room reeked of artisans of all sorts; writers, poets, musicians, and starving artists of all kinds.

_'I'd love to see their artwork.' _Hermione thought as she stared at the framed portraits and paintings on the walls.

"So the museum's looking for new tour guides?" Harry asked, breaking Hermione out of her trance and spiraling her down to earth.

"Huh, what?" she mumbled. Harry laughed and pointed to the bulletin board.

"The museum, it's looking for new tour guides?" Harry asked again.

"Oh yeah, we got a new exhibit so we need more tour guides. Would you happen to know anyone?" she asked.

"Yeah, if you like lazy freeloader artists who should be selling their paintings instead of watching _'The Price is Right' _all day in my apartment," Harry laughed. Hermione laughed with him.

Right at that moment, Ginny stuck her head into the doorway.

"Harry! We have angry, rabid, caffeine-lacking customers here! All cranky from lack of Monday morning coffee!" Ginny said, pointing to the line of people at the counter.

"Bloody hell, why can't they just start smoking, it'd probably be less addicting..." Harry said, about to run to the counter before the crowd swallowed it whole, but Hermione stopped him.

"Here," she handed him two tickets, "these are tickets to the exhibit for tonight. Bring your 'lazy freeloader artist' friend and I'll consider hiring him."

"Thanks! But I feel like I owe you something..." Harry dug in his jeans' pockets and finally pulled out a small coupon for two free mocha lattes. "Here, come back sometime-"

"Harry!" Ginny's voice could be heard from the inside of the café, "RABID CAFFEINE-LACKING CUSTOMERS! DO I NEED TO REPEAT MYSELF?!"

"Coming, Ginny!" Harry shouted, running to the counter, in fear of the younger Weasley's wrath.

* * *

"Ron! Harry's home!" Dean shouted over the roaring cheer of a football game on TV.

There was an 'eek!' heard and Harry walked cautiously into his room. He found a very dishelved Ron with newspaper clippings hanging off him.

"I'M SO SORRY, HARRY! I COULDN'T FIND A JOB!!" Ron shouted, grabbing around Harry's legs in a pleading sort of way. Newspaper clippings flew off him as he flailed his arms about. Harry looked amused as he tried to kick Ron off, which resulted in the raven-haired youth dragging the red-haired couch potato down the hallway by one leg.

"It's your turn to cook, Seamus," Harry said and grabbed an apple from the refrigerator. He tried to sit on the counter but Ron was weighing him down.

"Ron! Get off already! I'm not mad at you! And stop looking at me like I'm the bloody grim reaper!" Harry shouted, as Ron finally unlatched himself.

"So it was a false threat?" Ron asked, standing up.

"Oh no, I would've let you be the lab rat for Fred and George's experiments but I found a job for you today," Harry said, biting into the apple.

"Really?! What kind of job?"

"The museum two blocks away from the café needs new tour guides. It just got a new exhibit or something. And this girl gave me two free tickets to the opening tonight," Harry responded, putting the half-eaten apple on a plate and stuffing it with abandon into the refrigerator. This was for when Seamus would go on an eating rampage and raid the kitchen of all things edible. It was a regular event, normally happening about once a month or so.

"But museums are boring..." Ron mumbled.

"Don't worry, it's an _art _museum. Who knows art more than and artist?" Harry pointed out.

"Who's an artist?" Dean asked, walking into the kitchen.

"If you're talking about Ron," Seamus snickered, "Lose all hope."

"Hey, at least I didn't flunk gym in high school!" Ron argued.

"My PINKIE was sprained!" Seamus complained.

"Okay cut it out Tweedledee and Tweedledum!" Harry said, in an attempt to end the argument.

"No, Fred and George are Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Those two are Oompa and Loompa!" Dean said.

"Okay, I wouldn't care if I was Willy Wonka and owned the chocolate factory!" Harry shouted. "Dean, go back to watching the football game. Seamus, cook, damnit, COOK! And don't blow up my kitchen this time! Now, Ron, get dressed in a sensible suit that doesn't have rips, tears, paint or any other kind of stains!"

Ron gave Harry an 'you've got to be kidding me' look.

"On second thought... take one of mine," Harry said, leading Ron back to their room.

After half an hour of choosing suits, which most were declared 'BORING' by Ron, the artist had finally settled for a navy blue tuxedo.

Marching out of the bathroom, Ron waved a tie in Harry's face.

"So how do you put on this belt dealie thingine?"

Harry sighed, thinking, _'It'd be less trouble handling twenty toddlers in a petting zoo...'_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**M0rbidity's A/N**: w00t! The title will be explained later! It is based on a painting by Salvador Dali.

**Phaea's A/N**: And then there was light! We're finally done the first chapter. Second one will be posted soon (we hope). Be forewarned that Hayden is sometimes lazy and Sarah is hyperventilating (I'm starting school ;o;).


	2. Got a Bloody Job!

**STILL LIFE**

**Authoresses**: **Usyagi** a.k.a. Sarah and **M0rbidity** a.k.a. Hayden

**Disclaimer**: No own, no sue, no steal our lunch money.

**Typer**: Usyagi— M0rbidity: Well NOT EVEN HALF WAY THROUGH! She bloody GAVE UP! And **I** finished it!

**Beta-reader**: M0rbidity

**Usyagi's A/N**: After much delay (school is blegh and MS Word is uncooperative) this chapter is finished. Now I can sleep in peace (Potter-less nightmares!). Until chapter 3. Oh fudge.

**M0rbidity's A/N**: First, it's NOT my fault that this chapter came so goddamned late! _Sarah_ is a procrastinator and gave up and sent it to me to finish so send all angry hate mail to Usyagi. Oh and TONS of thanks to our reviewers! Except for Moses. -glares- Now, excuse me while I go smash Moses in the head with a hammer. Enjoy!

**Updated Note From M0rbidity on June 16th, 2005:** Yeah…it's kind of been a year. BUT AGAIN, IT'S NOT MY FAULT. Phaea is now known as **Usyagi** and she's given up on fanfiction "until late june". Whatever, I decided to finish and start posting again. LOVE, **Hayden**.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Got a Bloody Job! **

It was exactly 7:48 PM, three minutes since they'd finished dinner. And boredom had already consumed the room.

"Can we come?" Dean pleaded, whipping out the puppy dog eyes. His football game had ended and Seamus was finished what he called cooking - really making a mess of the kitchen - an hour ago. He had given up trying to light the _electric_ stove on fire and moved onto setting the weak-old newspaper on fire instead.

"No," Harry said sternly, "You'll burn down the museum."

"That's not me, that's Seamus!" Dean pointed out, acting insulted.

"Hey, I'm not THAT much of a pyromaniac," Seamus defended himself, dousing the flaming papers in dish water and running over to the couch to stuff his lighter '_subtly'_ - do note the sarcasm - between the cushions.

"_You're _the reason we have electric stoves!" Ron snorted.

Seamus pouted in defeat.

"Can I at least _drive_?" Dean tried once more.

"NO!" his three roommates screamed in perfect synchrony with bewildered looks on their faces.

"Last time you drove off by yourself, we never saw Harry's car again," Ron remarked, smoothing his tie. Harry had informed him that it wasn't a belt and it wouldn't go around his waist, but rather his neck. How queer, Ron had thought.

Seamus shook his head in sad agreement.

"Hey! I have a perfectly good reason for that. You see, the car, I-"

"Traded it for magic beans," Harry finished for Dean, now pulling on his shiny, polished shoes and indicating for Ron to follow suit.

"Which we had for dinner that night," Ron pointed out.

"And no magic beanstalks have sprouted from our tummies yet, eh Jack?" Seamus added, poking Dean in the stomach for emphasis.

Harry and Ron were already out of the room by then, shutting the door tightly behind them. Yet still they could hear the bickering through the walls.

What thin walls they had… oh right.

Way back, maybe a year or so ago, Dean had gotten too excited during one of his football games on TV and tackled the wall, head-on. He had blamed it on the fact that it was the tie-breaking and also _winning_ touchdown. In the process, he had smashed a hole in the wall the size of an elephant - okay, so maybe a BABY elephant.

They'd been too poor to hire someone to fix it and decided to do it themselves. And their fixing was about just as good as Dean's driving – not very good.

Harry sighed. He made a mental note to patch up that wall, the burn marks on the furniture, fix the melted toaster, and buy a new car when Ron got his first paycheck.

How did someone so responsible and sane end up with such crazy and mental friends?

* * *

"TAXI!" 

A yellow car zoomed by the two figures standing at the curb of the street, not even slowing its speed.

"**BASTARD!**"

"Ron, let's just walk. It's only two blocks." Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder and guided him in the direction of the museum.

"Two blocks! Two bloody blocks! By then we could be attacked by squirrels! Or chipmunks! Or those nasty bunny-buggers," Ron shuddered, but allowed Harry to drag him along.

"You _really_ need to get out more," the raven-haired boy commented, "Fresh air will do you good."

"Or fuel my allergies," his red-haired companion mumbled, shifting a bit uncomfortably in the stiff suit.

'_It's the city! Who's allergic to air?'_ Harry wondered to himself. He decided not to question it, since logic wasn't in Ron's vocabulary.

"Could be worse," he decided to say.

"That it could. Damned goldfish…"

The raven-haired boy sighed, deciding it would be best just to get to the museum as _quickly_ as possible, to avoid further paranoia from the artist.

* * *

The two had arrived precisely on time - at least by Ron's watch, which could have been off a minute or two. Or ten. Oh well, no biggie. They got there in one piece, right? 

No delays from squirrels, no chipmunks, no bunnies, or those damned goldfish.

So far so good!

Right as they reached the front steps of the magnificent building, Harry and Ron straightened their suits, smoothed back their hair, and walked in standing at their full heights. No one would be able to tell they just ran there. (Ron had insisted on racing to the museum in fear of squirrels.)

"Wow, look at this place!" said Ron enthusiastically, his eyes shining in child-like eagerness.

Pure ivory walls stretched thirty feet above their heads, merging with an equally white ceiling. Paintings of all sorts hung on the walls as the only decoration – in any case, the only ones needed. It was as if the white bled in a prismatic waterfall.

Ron sighed. He was in paradise.

Harry nudged his companion, and whispered, "Food."

Slowly absorbing this tiny piece of information, the red-haired boy blinked twice. He finally shifted his attention from the walls to the buffet table in the corner of the exhibit.

"Food!" he declared giddily. Even though it was only half an hour or so since they had dinner, why pass up the chance to stuff in a little free cuisine?

_

* * *

Half an hour later - _

"What do you mean the paintings were destroyed!" Hermione shouted incredulously into her mini Nokia cell phone. She had been standing in the desolate lobby of the museum where she had been arguing into her cell for the past hour.

Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped.

"Whoa, are you okay?" a familiar voice asked. Hermione looked up to see the boy she met at the café.

"Yeah, um, I'm going to have to call you back Oliver," Hermione said into her cell and instantly flipped it closed and slipped it into her small purse.

"Hey, so you came," she smiled and then asked, "Why are you here in the lobby?"

"Yeah, I came with my friend, Ron. And I decided that being embarrassed in public with him isn't something that I want to do frequently. I was going to rest outside but I heard someone yelling," Harry explained, laughing.

"Sorry for the yelling, but one of our curators just told us last minute that three of our paintings were destroyed while being shipped," Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Is there something I could do?" Harry asked, his Samaritan side showing.

"Not unless you can paint three paintings for the Surrealism exhibition by next month," Hermione sighed. Harry couldn't help but laugh a little at the brunette's manner.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you look so serious. You're very into your job, aren't you?" Harry asked.

"Of course, my father is the founder of this and 3 other museums. I really should be, shouldn't I?" she said.

"What?" Harry blinked.

"My father owns this museum. He's an art collector," Hermione said back without batting an eyelash.

"Wow, no wonder you know so much about art. I knew you looked rich," Harry said, looking impressed.

"Yeah, you're one to talk. Mr. Harry POTTER," Hermione said, looking somewhat furious.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, trying to sound innocent.

"I came back to the café after you left and asked the red-haired girl at the counter what your name was. You're Harry Potter, the son of the famous James and Lily Potter!" Hermione emphasized, giving him a knowing look.

"Um…yeah…about that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone. Ron and I have been running from the paparazzi for years. They've only recently stopped when my mum's last sculpture was sold," Harry said, with a slight tone of grief in his voice. Every time he thought of his parents' death, he got all choked up inside.

"Oh, I'm sorry for bringing your parents up," Hermione quickly apologized, looking ashamed.

"No, it's okay, but how about we get back to the exhibition. I think it's time you met Ron," Harry suggested.

_

* * *

Surrealism Exhibition, Left Wing - _

Ron was standing in front of a Dali painting.

Passerby would've never known him to be a complete slob and lazy couch potato by his current mannerisms.

His expression was one of pure concentration and inspiration. And as Harry walked up to the artist, he swore that he could see all the little brain cells in his thick skull moving. These were the only times the red-head ever looked serious.

Interrupting his reverie, Harry cleared his throat. Ron turned to him, eyes still hardened and calculating as he shifted his glance from Harry to a brunette he'd never met before.

"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger, associate manager of the Tate Modern," the brunette said, putting forth a hand.

"Er, hi, I'm Ronald Weasley," Ron said, shaking her hand.Hermione's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Wow, Ronald Weasley. I've seen some of your work and I have to say that most of it is magnificent."

Ron smiled brightly at the compliment.

"Why, thank you. Where exactly did you see it?"

"Oh, my father owns this museum and the Saatchi Gallery as well and I saw your painting '_Through The Kaleidoscope_' hanging in the Modern and Contemporary wing. It was breath-taking," Hermione gushed slightly.

"I'm glad you liked it…does this mean I get the job?" Ron asked bluntly. Gone was the serious artist and in its place was...well, Ron. In the corner of Hermione's eye, she could see Harry slapping his forehead.

"Well, I'll need you to fax your resume to my assistant but yes, I'm pretty sure I'll be expecting you here on Monday morning," she smiled as Ron gave out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God! Now I won't be tortured by Fred and George!" Ron said.

"Huh?"

"Don't ask," Harry said, shaking his head.

As the night progressed and Hermione introduced Ron to more and more people who instantly recognized him, the red-head couldn't help but think that things had gotten significantly better for him.

…That, and he didn't have to worry about being tested on by his twin brothers.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED 

**Usyagi's A/N**: I'm bored. HOMEWORK IS THE WORK OF… home. Yeah. So I'm at home and I'm going to do it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter anyhow.

**M0rbidity's A/N**: Easy for YOU to say, you slacker! Anyways, I'm trying to make the locations as accurate as possible. I just spent an afternoon studying Southwark, London England. And I learned a lot about London I never knew. Knowledge feels good. Okay, I'm gonna thank the reviewers now since USYAGI is too lazy to do it. - grumbles but secretly loves this job - Oh, and I'm sorry if it sucks, I'm too lazy to check it and it's not that good cause I rushed. so :P


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